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You hurt me. Not with words, but by withholding them when I needed them most.

You hurt me when you walked away.

You took with you my dreams, my hopes and my passion.

You scarred me with the ill-chosen words you did choose to use when you allowed anger to guide you, and your eyes to be closed to compassion.

You turned your back on me when I needed someone to prop me up.

I needed to lean on you, and you let me fall and I struggle to believe that it wasn’t deliberate.

You knew I was treading water, yet you threw me no lifelines. You responded to my cries for help with anger.

Were you angry at me for being weak? Or angry at yourself for being ill equipped to deal with the onslaught of emotion that I bring to the table?

Some say that you were not ever able to deal with me emotionally, but I call bullshit. You always knew exactly what you were doing.

I know I’m pretty full on but you knew that from the very beginning.

This was always all about control, and power and winning no matter the cost. It was about arrogance and selfishness.

I want to hate you for this and for all the rest of the pain you have caused me over the years, but hate is such a strong force that I don’t want to allow it in to poison me. Because I know it will damage me irreparably.

Part of me wants to find out what I need to do to cause you the same level of hurt and pain that you’ve caused me, but I know deep down that revenge is never the answer.

Love is.
Forgiveness is.
I’ve held onto enough pain to last me a lifetime and it’s starting to make me physically ill so it’s time to let it all go.
It’s time for me to move on and allow healing to begin.

You’ve left me damaged, but not broken. Cautious but not so much that I’ll never be able to let someone in again.

You don’t deserve that much power over me.

Your neglect of our relationship, of our history and our connection hasn’t left me feeling as cold as it I would’ve expected.

It has pushed me closer to Jesus. To the one who will never be disappointed in me.

The one who will never crush me with angry words, the one who will never abandon me.

So thank you. Thank you for teaching me that it was always foolish to expect a human to be what only God can be.

There’s a certain kind of clarity that comes from being 40. Well, er – 41 actually but I’ve stopped counting. I have decided that I’m not going to get any older, Ima stop right here at this age.

Well, last year’s age, but you know what I mean.

And by clarity, I mean, self-awareness. I seriously could no longer care less what other people think of me.

Yeah, that’s a lie too. I WISH I didn’t care but my emotions preeeeetty much rule this girl.

Yep. Always have done- probably always will do.

And that’s ok.

Anyway – as I was saying, I’ve learned a lot about myself in these past few years and I’m gonna write about it here so I can read back on it the next time I’m in full blown self-hatred mode and rediscover why its ok to be me.

Firstly – I am aware that I am different to most mothers. I am not great at the whole example setting thing.

My teenaged daughter is usually the one telling ME to mind my language and it’s usually her asking ME to get a grip when I lose it. And my boys have seen me in a puddle of tears on the floor holding onto a glass of wine for dear life and then been there to comfort ME more times than I care to admit.

But here’s the thing: my kids know they could rely on me to be there for them no matter what happens, and that I will love them regardless of anything that they could ever say or do.

So I’m calling that a win. I’m not always perfect, but my love for them is.

I may not always operate in complete coping mode but I am capable of being what they need when they need it most and that’s what is most important.

I don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to parenting but I do always apologise when I stuff up.

That’s also important.

Secondly: I’m a better mother when I spend (a metric crapload) of time away from my kids. And THAT’S ok to admit too. It doesn’t make me a bad mother; it makes me real. Not all mothers want to spend every waking moment with their children climbing all over them and obsess about every tiny aspect of their children’s lives. We are all different. I for one go stir crazy when I’m not afforded enough “Fi” time. And the result of that’s not fun for anyone. BELIEVE me. Working outside the home with long hours is what keeps me sane and helps teach my children the independence that they may not have learnt had they not have been forced into it. I’m not gonna feel guilty about that anymore either.

It’s wonderful that some people can post all over social media about how much they LOVE school holidays and simply ADORE having their offspring home and post album after album of beautiful photos of the amazing artwork, craft creations and outings they have done with the neatly dressed, intelligent, well behaved children, – but that’s not me (or my children) either.

No.

Not even close.

It’s taken me a loooooooooong time (and I’m not there yet) to be ok with the fact that I am not like those mothers.

I abhor craft, I don’t have an artistic bone in my entire body and going ANYWHERE further than the corner store with two autistic boys makes me want to stab myself because it is a hell that most people won’t ever fully experience.

And here’s why:

My kids have zero executive functioning skills. Know what they are? They are the skills that allow kids (or adults) to exercise mental control and be able to regulate themselves. These skills are easily learned and eventually instinctive in neurotypical (or normally wired) individuals and most kids have them down pat by about ten years old.

And by self- regulate I mean, to be able to make decisions for themselves, to instinctively understand what is expected of them in public places and to know how to self-entertain, behave appropriately and in their own best interest.

Put simply: because my boys are autistic and don’t yet have these skills mastered, a simple outing usually ends in one or both of my boys hitting/punching/kicking/poking/slapping each other in the nether region or screaming out something to the tune of:

“I’M BORED AND HUNGRY AND I HATE YOUR HAIR MUM AND YOU SMELL LIKE BUTT AND YOU’RE THE WORST MOTHER EVER BECAUSE YOU WONT BUY ME A NEW GAME AND WHY CAN’T I HAVE THIS CHOCOLATE AND WHY CAN’T I GO TO THE TOILET RIGHT BLOODY NOW AND WHY CAN’T I GO HOME WHERE MY PLAYSTATION IS BECAUSE YOU KNOW I HATE GROCERY SHOPPING AND WHY ARE YOU SITTING IN THE CORNER OF THE SHOP ROCKING AND SOBBING MUM WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER WINE?”

Or, you know, something like that.

And when I remind myself that most mothers stop dealing with toddler tantrums at around the age of 5 and that I am still dealing with them in 10 and 13 year olds I remember to stop comparing myself to the mum who took her four beautifully dressed children on a thirty six-hour car trip to see the beach on the other side of the country and stopped at every boutique café along the way because that isn’t – and will never be – my life.

But I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Just don’t judge me for not being even close to having my ducks in a row. In fact, living this ridiculously insane existence has afforded me a sense of humour that I never knew I had before, and it’s taught me to never ever EVER take anything at face value.

There is ALWAYS more going on in everyone’s lives than what they post on social media.

I’m learning not to compare my off-the-planet home life to Susie homemaker and have come to the realisation that not everyone is as brutally honest as I am.

I may scare a lot of people off with my honestly because it’s often confronting and raw and uncomfortable, but it also filters out anyone in my life who isn’t willing to stick with me through the darker days and has shown me who I can trust and who only wants to be my friend for what they can get from me.

So thankyou to anyone reading this because it means that you’ve stuck by me and I love you and appreciate you more than I could ever convey.

Have a great weekend all. I am spending mine taking my son to the hairdresser to fix up the home hair cut he gave himself (those darn executive functioning skills to blame again). Or lack thereof.

I am just so angry.
Where are you God? I know you won’t leave me, but right now, I cannot find you.
This hurt that is inside me is all-consuming. It’s overwhelming and frightening.

I struggle to join coherent thoughts together and the idea of completing simple everyday tasks seems so much more than I can possibly handle right now.

I wonder aloud whether there is more to life? There has to be. Surely this isn’t the best that life has got to offer? And I if this is in fact it- I want out.

Why aren’t you fixing this mess?

My mind is starting to go places that I know I should stop it from going. It’s been poking into dark corners that should be avoided and meanders it’s way along deadly paths and tracks that are all one way streets.

There is no coming back from some of these thoughts, but at the moment, it is what it is.

I’m so angry I can barely breathe some days.

Why have you let me get so low? Why aren’t you changing anything?

My current state of mind is a veritable quagmire of pain mixed with emotions that have no escape. They swirl around in my head and spin madly creating a series of out-of-control tornadoes that have the power to take me out in one foul swoop, and the energy that I expend trying to push them back under the surface is nothing short of exhausting.

Why aren’t you bringing the break I so badly need? Surely I deserve better than this?

Trying to keep this stupid mask glued to my face that presents a coping facade to the public and fool them into believing that every thing in my world is peachey is a task that requires enormous self-control and frankly: I no longer seem to have that in me anymore. My emotions torment me daily.

Where are you hiding from me?

These emotions hover on the edges of my sanity provoking me and passively aggressively eating away at my peace until I explode in a spectacular display of insanely refractory behaviour that paints me into a corner where I sit and rock as I try to wrap my head around what the hell is happening around me.

I am through pretending. When is this going to end?

Where is my escape?

Maybe I really have lost the plot once and for all. Maybe the end of my rope is the end of my life as well?
You know what? I don’t even care anymore. I’m done caring.

I know that YOU care, well at least I thought you did.

I am all out, I’ve got nothing.
Jesus: I need you. More than air.

Psalm 10:17
You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted;
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry.

I still remember your face when your walked into the restaurant for your surprise 60th that Mum threw for you. I remember the tears of gratitude that filled your eyes as you looked around the room and saw all your family and friends sitting there just to celebrate you. I never imagined that it would be your last big party.

To be honest – I am still pretty angry that you had to leave us.

I know that eight years on people are probably thinking that I should be past the anger stage by now, but every now and then it comes in like a giant tidal wave and completely wipes me out with such intensity.

And I never ever see it coming so I’m never fully prepared.

I never used to swear this much. And I never used to struggle with the massive anxiety that I have had ever since the strongest and most loving man I ever knew closed his eyes for the last time on this earth.

Death really sucks big ones.

Right now, it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting in my driveway in my car that’s got an empty petrol tank that I couldn’t be bothered filling.

The engine is on and I expect it to die very soon but I need the air conditioning turned on because I can’t open the windows due to the shouting I’ve been doing, and the manic banging of my fists on the passenger seat in total frustration.

Its all slightly insane but oddly cathartic to be so geographically close to my family but so far away emotionally.

They haven’t found me yet and I’m not ready to go inside and adult or parent. I want to get this out of me before I explode and end up hurting someone else by reflex.

The grief is crippling me at this moment and I just don’t know what else to do with it so I’ll scream until I lose my voice or one of the neighbours calls the police.

I kid of course .. Writing to you is calming me. It’s helping me feel heard and valued. It’s allowing me to purge this anger a little and make room for the peace that my soul craves.

I’ve become a bit of an expert at pretending, but Mum knows the truth. She wants me to go and get some grief counseling. But I just don’t know that I can ever trust another counsellor again after the marriage counselling went catastrophically badly and almost ruined me. Ruined us – ruined my hope and my belief in human nature.

I want to go back on the medication that I despise because I need to once again be numb.

I need to not feel so much and I need to be able to function again.

I’m going to be ok Dad, don’t worry about me.

But I would give anything to have you put your arms around me one more time and tell me that ‘God’s got this kiddo’.

Because Sunday’s are always the worst day of the week for me. I just can’t do church anymore – I can’t keep pretending for the sake of not making other people feel awkward at my outbursts.

So I’m going to sit here in this hot car and wait for Jesus to come meet me where I’m at.

Because that’s what you would have told me to do. Because you raised me right .

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Mother guilt is pretty much a given when it comes to motherhood. Its just a part of the whole deal.

I’ve had my fair share. Sometimes it comes from pressure that I put on myself and sometimes in comes in the form of comments from other people, friends, family or even the kids themselves.

I try to maintain a healthy work/home balance but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m actually pretty crappy at it. In fact – I totally suck at it.

I have spent the past I don’t know HOW MANY years advocating for Harley and trying to get him the help that he needs in the school system at any cost.

I did everything I could think of to help him manage better at school and spent years paying for countless therapists to try to encourage some sort of progress on paper, but all I kept seeing was a defeated and sad little boy.

He has always struggled to read, to write and with maths. Actually, he has battled with pretty much every element of school life. The socialising would still be the part that he has the most difficulty with but being that he is autistic- that aint about to magically change anytime soon.

We were driving to school last week when he oh-so-casually mentioned to me that his teacher suggested that he gets his eyes tested because she noticed him squinting at the board and also at his workbooks.

“How long have you had trouble seeing honey”? I asked him.

“I’ve never really been able to see much” he replied.

Um. Ok.

So I took him to the optometrist that very afternoon to learn that he also has the beginnings of the same eye condition that has plagued me for most of my life (but hopefully it will be able to be corrected in time so it doesn’t reach the point that mine have).

Blind as a bat I believe the technical term is!

And to think that it didn’t even occur to me to get his eyes checked – cue the mother guilt … in spades…

I took the afternoon off work today to go with him to collect his new glasses and was almost in tears as he excitedly skipped through the shopping centre reading out every shop sign and describing to me everything that he was seeing in great detail.

I asked him on the way home why he hadn’t told me earlier that he couldn’t see well and his answer damn near broke my heart.

“Because I just figured that everyone else was seeing the same as me but I thought I was dumb and that they were just smarter than me.”

I glanced at him in the rear view mirror and noticed him look down at his feet.

“Plus, I didn’t know what to say to tell you Mum. I couldn’t find the right words to describe it, and I knew that you have to work really hard for our money and I didn’t want to waste it on glasses because I know you can’t really afford it”.

I was gutted.

Sure, I’ve had to say no to the kids a lot lately because bills often eat up the majority of my pay, but I had hoped that he knew that I would’ve done whatever it takes to get him what he NEEDS.

But I managed to sit him down this afternoon and explain that I will always find a way when it comes to my kids. And that I was so super proud to have him as my spectacular spectacles buddy.

In line with my previous post about looking after ME, I downloaded a fancy new app called ‘YOU’ and I’m absolutely LOVING it!
The basic idea of this app is to record by photographs small daily changes that you are making to your life for the better. You can make your posts private – like a personal visual diary, or public (like I have) where people from all over the world can like or comment on your personal growth pics.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Great, it’s another social media platform that’s no different to Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook or even Twitter. Why do I even need this?”

Well, the truth is : You don’t. But the purpose of this app is to empower people and to help them to be the best YOU that they can be by helping you to create and achieve micro goals.
From my personal experience – most social media platforms tend to bring our people’s competitive sides and posts can sometimes turn into an ‘keeping up with, and running ahead of the joneses’ battle. I jumped off that comparison train a while back because it used to do my head in.

I deleted my Facebook and Twitter accounts years ago. I simply couldn’t deal with the crap that seems to go hand in hand with social media.

I still have Instagram and I’m very particular over who I follow and who I allow to follow me. It’s part of the ‘looking after me’ policy that I’ve adopted.

This app appeals to me mostly because in the about section it says:

Don’t ‘photo stress’. It’s not a photo competition so don’t feel pressured – life is not always picture perfect!

And there are even “7 commandments of the YOU app” that stresses that the app is not a competition. It tells you not to focus on commenting or liking other people’s posts but to remember that the purpose of the app is to help YOU.

It points out that participation is a choice and not expected every day and that they recognize that it’s easy to become overwhelmed when feeling like you have to post every single day. It encourages you to stop and take the time to reflect and think about your goals and encourages you to share anything that you’ve learned about yourself that may help someone else.
Today I posted pics in the categories of MOVE, LOVE, TAKE A MOMENT and FOOD.

I think this app is going to be a wonderful tool for me to continue taking the baby steps that i need to take for personal growth this year.

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I’m not one for making New Years Resolutions; I never continue them past the first week of January anyway. Declaring publicly that you are giving something up or starting something new is a sure-fire way to make a fool of yourself or end up disappointed when you ultimately fail.

Ask me how I know this 😉

Besides, I already know of several areas in my life where I need to make changes. God has been speaking to me gently about them for a while and I have also got some friends around me who aren’t afraid to be honest with me when they see me battling hurdles in my life. These friends are few but they are consistent and they speak life into me when I’m struggling and love me no matter what season I’m in.

I’ve always thought that self-harm was cutting, overdosing or physically damaging yourself in some way, but lately I’ve been made aware of the fact that self-harm actually refers to anything that you’re participating in that is causing you injury whether it be physical, emotional or mental.

And I’m the worst at self-sabotage.

I frequently say yes when I really want to (and should) say no, I eat what I know is going to make me ill (I have a list of known food intolerances as long as your arm) and I allow myself to be persuaded into being places I don’t want to be.

The downward spiral continues when I start to hate myself for being weak (again) and I push myself until I end up an emotional basket case and no good for anything or anybody.

Life is always going to throw curve balls at me, and people will always disappoint me – I can’t do a damn thing about any of that. But what I can change is how I view ME and how I treat ME.

Over the course of this year I have many long-term goals, physically, spiritually and emotionally.

I want to improve my running; both distance and style and I’d also like to work at losing a bit of weight, toning up and strengthening my body.

Spiritually I want to set aside more time to spend with my children and with Jesus. I want to rearrange my priorities and make room for miracles and blessings to occur and I want to teach my children by example about having hope.

Emotionally I want to learn to be kinder to myself. I want to learn how to say no when I need to, how to stand up for myself and how to stop taking crap from other people because I think so little of myself. I also want to set aside time each week to write. I process better when I do this and I find it incredibly cathartic.

I know that life isn’t always going to be easy and it’s a pretty overwhelming and exhaustive list of changes that I want to make in my life, but I don’t intend on doing everything all at once.

I haven’t even set dates as yet as to what I want to achieve by when or even how I plan to go about reaching those goals, but I have set myself the baby step goal of doing one thing per day that is just for me and just because I deserve it.

Today’s baby step was coming home from work, running myself a bubble bath and drinking a healthy smoothie made from fresh fruit and almond milk.

Tomorrow I am visiting a beautiful florist and I am buying myself a massive bunch of roses and coming home to do yoga and weights in front of a romantic movie.

I’m being kind to me. I am choosing to value myself. This is going to be MY year, I am going to look after myself and I am going to shine.

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Well Hey! Hi, How’s it going? What’s happening? Is it as good as they say it is up there? Have you been reading the letters I’ve written you? Does God pass on my messages? You know I ask him to, like – all the time?

Today begins a new year, twenty sixteen – can you believe that? Yep – 16, the age your firstborn grandchild turns this year. The daughter I brought home from the hospital on your birthday all those years ago. Speaking of birthdays – you would’ve been 70 this year. Time flies huh?

Remember when I was chatting to you out loud the other day – when I was driving between jobs – when I cried that messy, ugly cry and had to pull the car over on the side of the motorway until I managed to pull myself together enough to continue driving? Yeah well – that situation worked itself out with a few well-timed phone calls, apologizing, begging and whatnot.

Thanks for listening to me and not judging me on that one. A hug certainly would’ve helped but – you know – kinda difficult with you being up there in heaven and me being here and all….

I miss your cuddles the most. The ones where you’d pull that face and extend your arm and say: “Come here kiddo, it’s gonna be ok” and you’d pull me close and wrap me in a bear hug and kiss the top of my head. Somehow, that used to make me feel safe and protected no matter what storm raged around me.

I don’t get hugs like that anymore, no one in my life seems to be ‘huggers’ like we both were. I’ve taken to sometimes hugging my teddy in my bedroom because none of my kids care for the kind of hugs that I need.

Pathetic right?

Yeah, well …

OK.

I guess it is what it is.

*shrug*

I really miss your words too, I miss being told that you thought I was beautiful, and smart, and clever, and when you told me what a brilliant mother I was, I believed you. I think that’s because you were (and still are) the only man in my life who never ever hurt me. You were the only man who was brave enough to show me all your emotions and your love was never conditional.

Sure, I was often difficult, and unreasonable and often moody, but your love for me never waivered.

I’m going to start running again this year, I have a lot of pesky kilos that have sneakily crept onto my frame and this year I’m going to be kinder to myself. It’s time to stop making excuses and look after my own health and my mind better than I have done to date. I was pretty neglectful of me in 2015 and that really needs to stop. I need to do something for me – just for me – and not for anyone else. It’s my turn this year.

We just finished another Christmas.

It was hard.

Christmas is always hard now you’re gone. I miss your ‘Dad jokes’ and the way you’d have to stretch those paper hats to their capacity to get them to stretch over your big ol’ noggin. I miss the silly selfies we’d take together long before selfies even became a thing. Way before iPhones existed and Instagram and Facebook were even invented.

I miss the way you’d get so excited – just like a little kid – when you opened your gifts and how you would drive us all crazy with anticipation as you felt every square inch of your gift trying to guess the contents before removing a single piece of tape.

You’d shake it and turn it this way and that, and smell it before finally deciding to open the damn thing and put us all out of our misery!

You saw it as part of the fun of Christmas. You really were a big kid at heart. And that was one of my favourite things about you.

I loved that you were the only person who could pull me out of a bad mood successfully. You wouldn’t stand for my grumps and you’d call me on it every time. But you did it with a tenderness and compassion that I’ve never found since. You were the first person to ever tell me when I was being a bitch, and you will probably be the only person who would get away with it even to this day!

Grief, is a funny thing. I’ve learnt that it’s not just a matter of going through the seven stages and then being miraculously cured for the rest of time. No, grief is very much a cyclical thing. The cycle I’m currently in is a painful one, but I know that I’ll get through it because, I always do.

I thought I’d be doing better by now. I mean, it’s been almost 8 years since you left, but there are still a LOT of days that leave me struggling to cope. I spend a lot of time and energy pushing people out of my life because I’m frightened to let anyone close again.

Pretty screwed up hey?

Anyhow, it’s time to take another step forward. Time to throw myself at God’s feet (again) and let Him continue the healing process.

I’m ok, don’t worry about us. Mum takes great care of us all and I know she misses you as much as I do, but we understand that it was your time to go.

It just sucks is all.

Have fun running through those streets of gold and stay out of mischief.

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When I first started writing this blog over three (wow) years ago, it was originally called Welcome To The Madhouse and it was about anything and everything that I felt like writing about.

My very first post stated that this blog was going to be my venting place, my writing therapy and my very own place on the internet to “be me” and to allow me to flex my creative writing muscles.

But somehow, somewhere along the way I lost that. I started writing only what I ‘thought’ I had to write about. I had been told that I needed to decide what my blog was going to be about and then stay true to that genre.

Meanwhile, autism gradually started to take over our world with my youngest son receiving his own diagnosis and therefore cementing my place in the autism blogger community. So I changed the blog’s name to “Wonderfully Wired” to try to encapsulate that and in doing so I made the choice to blog almost exclusively about autism.

Which was good for a while, but it caused my writing to become stale, uninteresting and it limited my audience greatly. Sure, autism is a huge spectrum and all, but there is only so much that a person can write about it without starting to rehash old stuff or repeat things that they’ve already written.

I realised recently, that I miss writing about the silly, the inane and the downright ridiculous parts of my life. I realised that by limiting myself, I had started to forget about what really makes me happy. Writing has always made me happy. So since this is MY blog and I can do whatever the heck I like with it – I have decided today to write about exactly what’s in my heart at the moment.

And what’s in my heart right now is the word ‘freedom’.

Freedom to be different to everyone else, freedom to follow my heart not my head. Freedom to be the ‘me’ I was created to be and to not feel as though I need to conform.

I remember a few years ago that a friend was telling me that the closer that she got to 40 – the less she cared what people thought of her and the more that she started to be comfortable in her own skin. And I turned 38 a few months ago and am starting to truly understand what she meant!

I had an epiphany today as I was walking to a local shopping centre. We live near a University campus and I took a shortcut through the grounds to get there. It was around lunchtime and a whole bunch of students were also walking towards the centre. I fell into step beside them and I thought I blended really well into the group. I was transported back in my mind to when I was 19-20 and in their phase of life where the biggest worry I had was whether I could afford to go out on both Friday AND Saturday nights. I smiled to myself as I realised how much water has gushed under the proverbial bridge since then and wondered if these young’uns had any idea what life had in store for them.

I doubted it. They were young and free and clearly enjoying life as they giggled and smiled and joked together as they walked.

But then I noticed that quite a few of the group were turning around and looking at ME and smiling at ME! I was stoked – they were being friendly and I smiled back at them happily.

Until the realisation dawned on me. I suddenly KNEW why they were all paying me attention, it was because here was this crazy woman with her bright purple headphones on, dance walking (watch this for an example of dance-walking http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSy7h3TPB-M) and singing Katy Perry’s “ROAR” at the top of her lungs.

I’d gotten so lost in thought and was so happy reminiscing and being ‘FREE’ that I hadn’t realised that I was singing out loud! A few of the girls joined in the chorus with me and my worries and cares were all abandoned for the next few hours or so as I remembered what a great morning I had.

It was AWESOME!

I’m reminded that in John 8:36 the bible says; “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” And have decided that I am going to memorise that verse and allow God to take all my cares and concerns so that I can continue to live a peaceful and stress free life.

Oh that and the fact that I am learning to be stronger, wiser and care LESS about what people think of me 🙂

I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire
‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me roar
Louder, louder than a lion
‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me roar